The Scars of Motherhood

Throughout my life, I have heard two basic schools of thought on scars.

The first:

I fought the battle, and I survived. My scar is a mark of honor, strength, and resilience.

The second:

Something happened to me, be it good or bad, and I am changed forever.



Some scars we carry on our physical bodies.The dark purple line on my lower stomach that I hope my bathing suit will cover. The stretch marks on my left hip. The breasts that have fed four babies and now require a good bra and dim lighting in order to look sexy.

Some scars we see in our physical world. The headstones, the photos, the boxes tucked away on closet shelves, kept in memory of babies and children who were taken from us far too soon. The piles of adoption paperwork lining the kitchen counter. The medication that we take each day to quiet the voices in our heads telling us that we aren't good enough, that it's too hard, that we should just give up. The tiny pajamas, carefully folded and wrapped in tissue as evidence that our tall, toothless six year old was once small enough to curl up onto our chest for a long afternoon nap.

Some scars are invisible. You cannot see them, but you can feel them. The way your stomach drops when the dentist tells you that your second grader has a cavity. The guilt that you feel when you run though the drive thru for dinner for the third time in a week. The sad validation that you feel when you hear that your child qualifies for therapy.



Being a mom is the hardest thing I have done. It is the hardest thing that I continue to do, each and every day. The scars that I carry are evidence of the hard times, yes, but they are also evidence of some of the best times in my life. 



My scars are proof that I carried these beautiful children of mine - that a small part of my husband and a small part of myself combined and grew into an amazing person with an incredible heart and a blossoming personality. I remember the swelling of pride and love that I felt the minute I met each and every one of them.

My scars are proof that I nursed my babies. That I fed them and sustained them and that I helped them grow. I remember spending hours, curled up in bed, snuggling impossibly tiny babies. Those are some of my most precious memories.

My scars are proof that I survived the pain of loss, and am a more compassionate person because of it.

My scars are proof that I spent a year fighting a battle within myself and still managed to take care of my family. They are proof that I am stronger than I ever imagined, and that I can make it through anything.



Don't hide your scars, mamas.



Motherhood is a battle, and it leaves its marks, on our physical bodies as well as in our hearts and minds. But remember this as you celebrate Mother's Day. 

You are beautiful. You are strong. You are resilient. 

Your children, whether you hold them in your heart or in your arms, are one of the greatest things that have ever happened to you, and you are changed forever.